


Five Times Sansa Showed Up At Margaery’s Apartment and One Time She Was Already There

by Siriuslytyrell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriuslytyrell/pseuds/Siriuslytyrell
Summary: 5+1 may be cliche, but this time Sansa gets drunk, has multiple breakdowns, and still can't seem to stay away from an increasingly familiar door. Not that Margaery would want her to.





	Five Times Sansa Showed Up At Margaery’s Apartment and One Time She Was Already There

**Author's Note:**

> I much prefer writing canon-era fic, but this idea got stuck in my head and, a week later, here we are. Any feedback, reactions, commentary, etc is greatly appreciated and encouraged!

1.  
Margaery Tyrell was a Political Science & Public Relations double major, with gorgeous, gorgeous brown curls and a particular affinity for setting her Foreign Policy professor off on tangents about bureaucratic oversight. Sansa Stark was a Fashion Designs major who really needed to pass Foreign Policy so she would have enough credits to finally add a Journalism minor, something she’d wanted to do ever since she’d gotten an internship with Westeros Weekly. She was also well on her way to deciding that she was 100% into ladies and getting increasingly closer to that realization every time Margaery smirked at her from across the classroom. 

The Tyrells and the Starks had known each other for decades. The family patriarchs had run in the same political circles for years and Ned Stark’s distaste for Mace Tyrell’s passivity was no secret. Garlan, Margaery’s second oldest brother, had tutored the elder half of the Stark kids in math for all of their middle school years and Loras, the youngest brother, was in half of Sansa’s classes. 

The only thing was, for all of their familiarity and annual Christmas cards, none of the Starks were actually close to the Tyrells. Alerie Tyrell still scoffed every time Catelyn missed a networking event because she had work and Olenna Tyrell still openly disapproved of Ned and Catelyn’s decision to take in Theon Greyjoy, nevermind the fact that Theon had been six at the time and he had just celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. Margaery had been a constant presence in Sansa’s life, there had just never been cause for that presence to lend itself to an actual relationship. 

All of those factors combined to lead Sansa to stand in front of Margaery’s door at 6pm on a Sunday, five hours before an eight page essay was due for the Foreign Policy professor who looked at Margaery like she hung the moon. Sansa knocked on the door, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Before she could completely second guess her decision and flee, the door opened. Even in black athletic shorts and a Panic! at the Disco t-shirt, Margaery looked completely put together, her curls tied neatly back in a plait. It was ridiculous.

The look of confusion on Margaery’s face was quickly replaced with a grin. “Sansa Stark!” she exclaimed. Sansa smiled weakly at her. 

“I’ve been staring at my notes for three days and I still don’t understand what the difference is between Weber and Hayek’s stances on bureaucracies and that’s kind of important before I write an entire paper arguing that one is better than the other and every other powerpoint slide seems to say something different and I- I need help,” Sansa said in a rush. Margaery’s smile grew even wider and she had the audacity to giggle. Sansa knew she looked like a mess, she hadn’t brushed her hair in two days and she was wearing one of Robb’s old t-shirts, but she was clearly having a crisis here.

Margaery gestured into the apartment behind her, grin barely faltering. “Come in, then.” Sansa ducked her head, a blush spreading down her face. Margaery’s apartment was giant compared to the other student apartments Sansa had been in. There were plants covering the sill of a large window and there were candles burning on every available surface. If Sansa really thought about it, it was exactly what she expected Margaery Tyrell’s apartment to look like. She resisted the urge to look at every painting covering the walls and spun on her heel, clutching her laptop and folders to her chest. 

“I’m sorry to just show up like this, I’m just- desperate. Please, all of the gods, can you help me?” she begged, wincing slightly as she heard her voice slip into a whine. Sansa stood up straighter, brushing her hair over her shoulder and looking Margaery in the eyes. “Margaery. Political Science goddess who has known me since we were tiny. Can you help? I’ll do anything.”

Margaery had been watching Sansa’s slight meltdown with a smirk on her face. She held out her hands for the laptop and folders. “Give those here. Of course I’ll help you, sweet girl. I finished my essay last night, I’ll go grab it and we can use it as a jumping off point for yours.” Sansa started to protest, she didn’t want to just cheat, but oh hells, the damn thing was due in less than five hours and she wasn’t going to turn down any kind of help. 

Margaery disappeared into her bedroom, returning armed with both laptops, an inhuman amount of sticky notes, and a bottle of vodka. “The only way to write an eight page paper in five hours,” she replied to Sansa’s questioning glance. Sansa giggled and pulled her hair back over one shoulder. 

“If you say so.” Margaery sat down on the couch, gesturing for Sansa to take the seat beside her. 

“How did you know where I live, by the way?” Margaery asked. Sansa blushed, again, as she flashed back to texting Robb, who worked with Renly, Loras’ boyfriend, and asking him to ask Renly to ask Loras where she could possibly find his sister’s apartment. 

“Oh, I, um. I asked around,” Sansa offered. Margaery seemed to accept the excuse and just opened her laptop with one hand while twisting the top off of the vodka held between her knees with the other. Sansa sank back into the couch cushions. She was totally, 100% screwed. 

2.  
The second time Sansa showed up at Margaery’s apartment, she was significantly less frantic, but still worried, albeit abou something other than academics. Margaery had missed both the Tuesday and Thursday sections of Foreign Policy and, after looking over to Margaery's empty chair no less than twelve times per class, Sansa had broken down and checked Twitter. Where she found a series of tweets from @tyrellrose lamenting the horrors of the flu. 

Sansa was nothing if not her mother’s daughter and had immediately rushed back to her apartment to make soup. Chicken noodle soup with a flu-busting combination of spices, to be exact. It was just getting dark when she pulled into Margaery’s driveway, parking behind the sky blue Bug that had been sitting there the last time, too. Sansa strode up the walkway, clutching the thermos of soup to her chest. 

When Margaery opened the door, she looked a far cry from the casual, yet put together girl that had greeted Sansa the first time. Her hair was piled in a bun on top of her head, her tank top strap was sliding off of her shoulder, and her shorts appeared to actually be boxers with Captain America on them. Her eyes were puffy and her face was flushed. As much as Sansa refused to admit it to herself, seeing the perfect Margaery Tyrell in such a state was endearing. Her heart kind of, ached, with a need to fix and take care of the girl.

Margaery scrunched up her nose in confusion at Sansa, scowling slightly. “What are you doing here?” she asked, bitterness staining her voice. It was all Sansa could do to keep a smile pasted on her face as her mind screamed “Shit. Shit. Shit!” 

“Um. I brought soup?” she offered, holding out the red Thermos between them. At that, Margaery’s face slid into a perfectly professional mask. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she cooed, taking the Thermos from Sansa. Somehow, that was worse than the disdain. “Won’t you come in?” Sansa really, really thought about declining, but godsdamnit, she couldn’t say no to Margaery. She followed the other girl into an entirely different apartment than she had last seen. There were tissues strewn across every available surface, a pile of cough drop wrappers on the coffee table, and blankets and pillows piled high on the couch. Suddenly it set in just how miserable Margaery must be and her attitude when she came to the door made perfect sense. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Sansa clucked, surveying the room. She made a split-second decision and took the Thermos back from Margaery. “Right. You sit on the couch. I will put this in a bowl and bring it to you and you will eat at least half of it while I clean up in here a bit,” she commanded. “Okay?” she added, as the reality of showing up at Margaery Tyrell’s apartment and ordering her around set in. Margaery just nodded before her body was wracked with a coughing fit. 

Slightly shocked at the acquiescence, Sansa set to work. It wasn’t until half of the soup was gone and at least the living room was clean that she perched on the edge of a chair and looked Margaery up and down. “Have you been to the doctor?” she questioned. Margaery nodded weakly. 

“They just said to let it run its course,” she said. Now that Sansa was paying attention, she could hear how raspy Margaery’s voice was. The doctor should have at least given her something to take. Sansa sighed and moved to the couch. 

“Have you been staying hydrated, at least? Called anyone to make sure there’s someone to check up on you?” Margaery shook her head. 

“Dad’s campaign kicks off in a week and everyone’s been running around like crazy, I didn’t want to worry anyone.” Realization flooded Sansa’s mind. Robb had experience almost the exact same thing at least twice during every campaign he’d worked on since high school. 

“This is campaign flu?” she asked, although she already knew the answer. Margaery nodded. Sansa rolled her eyes, her frustration with Margaery’s doctor dissipating. “Then you need sleep. Especially because, if I know anyone in politics, I know you will be back out there by Monday, at the latest, even if you need a wheelchair to get there.” She stood up, gesturing for Margaery to do the same, even though she swayed slightly as she did so. “I assume your blankets are here so you can watch tv?”

“Yeah,” Margaery whispered. Sansa nodded, turning the blanket and pillow pile into some semblance of a bed. Once everything was tucked and straightened, she waved a hand at the couch. 

“Sleep,” she instructed. 

“Yes, Mom,” Margaery retorted as she did as she was bid. Sansa smiled at her fondly. 

“I think I have your number, I’ll call you tomorrow and make sure you aren’t dead.” She thought Margaery nodded, but the brunette was already asleep by the time she took the bowl of soup to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. Sansa left the apartment with a slight smile on her face. She had never seen Margaery let her guard down and, although she hadn’t had much choice, she felt special for having seen it. She also felt just slightly more infatuated. Slightly. 

3.  
Two weeks after Sansa had gone full mother hen on Margaery, she was ready to drop from exhaustion. In one week, she had turned in three projects, gone to four different events on her father’s or brother’s behalf, drank a lot of champagne, worked late every night, and slept roughly twenty hours total. She was an autopilot when she got in the car and didn’t realize where she was going until she could see Margaery’s apartment. Her foot let off the gas and Sansa started to make a probably illegal U-turn, but fuck it. The week before, Margaery had sat beside her in Foreign Policy, breaking the unofficial seating chart to the horror of the guy who usually sat there, and proceeded to sit there every other class since. Something had shifted. 

Margaery opened the door before Sansa even knocked, smiling softly. “Hey! I heard your car pull up. What’s up?” Sansa barely managed to smile back. 

“Um, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but it’s been a really shit week and I couldn’t bear the idea of going back to my apartment, where one of my siblings will almost definitely be waiting with a favor to ask of me,” she explained, trying to stop herself from sounding like she was complaining.

“Come in, then,” Margaery said, ushering Sansa inside. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.” With a cup of steaming tea warming her hands, Sansa realized that the amount of time it had taken to drive from campus, sit down, and be handed a cup of tea was the longest she’d taken to do something she wasn’t obligated to do in a week. Margaery sat down on the chair Sansa had perched on the last time she’d been there, another mug in her hands. “Why was the week so shit?” 

Sansa blushed, she didn’t know how to explain that doing coursework she loved and going to fundraisers for the campaigns of people she loved was so damn exhausting without sounding entitled. “It’s just been busy, that’s all.” Margaery rolled her eyes. 

“Oh please, sweet girl. I’ve seen you show up to class five minutes late with fabric still pinned to your skirt and you still didn’t look this frazzled.” Sansa smiled at that. It hadn’t been until she met Arya for dinner three hours after class that she had noticed the fabric, part of a ball gown she had been making for an 1800’s themed fashion show. 

“My father is about to announce that he isn’t running for reelection, which means he’s been working with at least three other candidates to get someone to take his place on the national stage and sends me to events that he can’t make it to. My oldest brother is running for city council, which is why he can’t go be Ned Stark; my mother is having to drag my sister through her final year of school by her teeth, which means I get a phone call from each of them every time Arya sneaks out to see her boyfriend; and my youngest brother has decided that he doesn’t want Arya to go away to school and somehow blames me for giving her the idea. Even though Robb went first. And everyone’s more stressed than normal, because Jon’s still in Afghanistan and we haven’t had a letter in weeks. On top of all of that, I have a fashion show in a week, I haven’t finished my article for my internship at the paper, and I think I’ve been hungover for three days.” Sansa was slightly out of breath when she finished, but it was a relief to have it out in the open and Margaery didn’t seem to be gearing up for a lecture about privilege. Instead, there was a smirk on her face. 

“Don’t you have another brother? Or is he the easy one?” she teased. Sansa groaned, dropping her head into her hands. 

“Oh gods, if Bran wasn’t so damn self-sufficient, I’m fairly sure I’d have gone mad already.”

“Look, I know what it’s like to have everyone in your family asking you to do eight different things, on top of everything you’re expected to do to be a functioning college student and, you know, human being.” Sansa felt slightly dumb. Of course Margaery would get it, she understood the whole family legacy thing and the chaos that came from a pack of siblings. 

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve survived this long and I’ll be fine?” Sansa asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. Margaery huffed a laugh. 

“I can. Or I can tell you that, if you need a place to hide from everyone who’s related to you, I have been meaning to get caught up on Jessica Jones and I could do with some company,” she offered. Sansa grinned. 

“I haven’t seen season 2 yet!” she blurted, covering her mouth with her hand a second too late. Margaery actually laughed at that. 

“Good, then we’re at the same place. Budge over, I can’t see the tv from here.” Sansa did as she was bid, glancing over at Margaery as she sat down. Then glancing again. She wasn’t as perfectly ethereal as Sansa had originally thought. She had freckles on her nose and an acne scar on her chin. Her mascara had flaked under her eyes and her forehead was slightly shiny. It wasn’t the utter disarray that Margaery had shown when she was sick, but it only served to prove that she was a real person. A real person who was sitting on the other end of the couch, searching for Jessica Jones on Netflix. Sansa sighed, closing her eyes for just a second. It was kind of perfect. Almost. 

4.  
One of the better parts of Sansa’s job at Westeros Weekly was the people. Willas Tyrell, the eldest Tyrell brother who had moved out before Sansa could even remember, was a brilliant assistant editor and Doran Martell, the actual editor, was happy to leave the running of the paper to Willas and Doran’s brother, Oberyn. Willas was always willing to let anyone, even the interns, chase a story that they thought could have merit and there was a constant influx of fascinating people coming through their doors. 

One of the not-so-great parts of the job were the bi-annual visits from the head of the foundation that served as the paper’s biggest donor, more commonly known as Olenna Tyrell. 

The entire office had been in a frenzy for a week. Three hours before Olenna was meant to arrive, every photographer, journalist, and intern was sitting at their desks in proper business attire, staring at their files and pretending to be busy. Even Doran was present for once, although he was hiding in his office, and Sansa had skipped her Friday classes to lend a hand in getting every possible article and column finished with time to spare. She just needed to switch her flip flops for heels and everything would be ready to, well, wait for Her Highness’ arrival. 

Sansa had finally gotten the strap sorted on her shoe when Loras bounded out of Willas’ office, sliding to a stop in front of her desk. The charming face that was so eerily similar to his sister’s looked almost green. For a family who prided themselves on their political prowess, the Tyrells sure did wear their hearts on their sleeves. “Loras?” she asked, voice thick with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

Loras took a deep breath. “Technically? Nothing.” Sansa’s heart started beating normally again. “But my grandmother will be here in an hour and Margaery is nowhere to be found and if we are not all here to present a united front and at least slightly tipsy when we do so, this could be very, very bad,” he said in a rush, tacking on a weak grin at the end. Sansa quirked an eyebrow. The Tyrells could usually reduce her to stammers and blushing, but it was her desk, her job, and her responsibility to not get fired by Olenna. She didn’t have time to be charmed into submission. 

“What do you expect me to do? I can’t magic your sister here.” Loras put his hands on the edge of her desk, leaning into her space. 

“You’re friends with Margaery, right? She’s mentioned you. You’ve been to her apartment,” he wheedled. Sansa did not have time to be charmed, but she did get a little distracted. Margaery was talking about her. To her brother and, by all accounts, her best friend. She shook her head. 

“Why can’t you go get her?” Loras groaned, dropping his head. 

“Because if I show up at Marg’s and remind her that our grandmother will be here in less than an hour, I will get something thrown at my head. If you show up, she will smile at you and happily follow you back here. I don’t have time to argue with her and if only two of us are here, I’m fairly sure Christmas will be cancelled.”

“It’s January, Loras,” Sansa said wryly. He made eye contact. 

“Exactly. Olenna Tyrell holds a grudge and Christmas, eleven months from now, will be cancelled. Please, Sansa,” he whined. Sansa rolled her eyes, but of course she gave in. She couldn’t say no to those brown eyes, even if they didn’t belong to the right Tyrell. 

“Fine. But you better tell your grandmother how great I am, so I don’t get fired for not being here waiting on her arrival.”

Sansa left the office quickly, her heels clacking against the wooden floors. She cursed under her breath as she unlocked her car, she had gotten there early enough to get a parking spot within a block of the office, but it was guaranteed to be gone by the time she got back. The things she did for the Tyrells. 

Margaery’s car was parked in front of her apartment, as always. Sansa stalked up to the door, only wobbling slightly on her heels. She knocked sharply, resisting the urge to shout through the door. Margaery opened the door while pinning the back onto an earring. “Sansa! What are you doing here? Don’t you work at Westeros?” Sansa scoffed. 

“That’s why I’m here. Loras sent me, apparently they can’t start doing shots until you get there and they need to do shots before your grandmother arrives. Because those are factors that make up a functioning family dynamic,” she snapped. Margaery looked taken aback. 

“Sansa Stark!” she said, almost approvingly. Sansa rolled her eyes and looked down at Margaery’s feet. 

“Can you just put on some shoes and get in the car? I’m not letting you drive if you’re just going to drink all of your brother’s good whiskey when we get to the office.” Margaery disappeared into her apartment, returning in strappy nude heels and with a purse slung over her shoulder. “Ready?” Sansa asked. Margaery nodded and pursed her lips. 

“Yes, dear.” Sansa flushed, thankful that at least she was leading the way to the car and Margaery couldn’t see her face. 

5.  
Olenna Tyrell left a path of destruction in her wake, which left everyone at Westeros scrambling to catch up. The layout had been overhauled, half of the columns were cancelled, and at least three interns quit. By the time the next Friday rolled around, Sansa was dead on her feet and ready to drink enough vodka that she stopped seeing newspaper layouts every time she closed her eyes. 

Zipped into a dress that her Aunt Lyanna had forced her to buy when she left for school that was bright blue and barely covered her ass, Sansa did exactly what she had convinced herself she would never do: shots. Red shots, green shots, shots that were literally on fire. People kept handing her alcohol and the rest of the interns that had come out with her only encouraged her. So Sansa got wasted. Absolutely, utterly shattered. She danced on tables, made out with some girl, had a freak-out in the bathroom about making out with said girl, and finally stumbled out of the fifth club in a row sometime after three in the morning. 

Sansa’s head was fuzzy, in a different way that came from drinking too much champagne or accidentally finishing a bottle of red wine. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins and didn’t notice when her friends disappeared. She didn’t notice much of anything until Margaery Tyrell opened her door. 

Sansa stumbled past Margaery’s barely noticing the shocked look on her face or the arm that reached out to steady her. “Sansa, are you alright?” Margaery asked. Sansa smiled at her. 

“I’m great! You’re great!” Sansa slurred. Margaery chuckled, putting her hands on Sansa’s hips and pushing her inside. 

“You need some water, sweet girl,” she said softly. Sansa let herself be pushed, until she was sitting on a chair in the kitchen with a glass of water. “Did you take a cab here? I didn’t see any lights.”

“Walked,” Sansa corrected. Margaery looked to the sky, wracking her memory. 

“Please tell me you at least came from Baelish’s place, it’s the only club within walking distance. Even though you still shouldn’t be walking alone at night, Sansa.” Sansa giggled and nodded. Petyr Baelish had been one of the ones to keep handing her shots, “on the house.” Margaery sighed. 

“That man’s a creep, babe. Do you want me to call your brother to come get you?” she asked, reaching out and taking the empty water glass before Sansa dropped it. Sansa shook her head, only stopping when she started to feel dizzy. 

“Okay, well, my spare bedroom is still covered in campaign posters and yard signs and sleeping on that couch will kill your back, so I guess you’re kipping with me. It’s a big bed, anyway.” Sansa let herself be pulled off the chair, following Margaery into her bedroom, where she was handed pajamas that she managed to get on without falling over more than twice. 

The next morning, Sansa woke up in a strange place with a pounding in her head. A look at her shockingly still alive phone told her it was already one in the afternoon. Sansa groaned, bits and pieces of the night before coming back. She was in Margaery’s bed. Wearing Margaery’s high school lacrosse sweatpants. And there was a note in Margaery’s handwriting on the bedside table, beside a Gatorade and a bottle of ibuprofen: “S, take some of these and drink the juice. I had to make an appearance at a ribbon-cutting this morning, shouldn’t be much past 1. Call me if you need anything. M.” Sansa blushed, of course Margaery had to see her at her absolute worst. Three times, if she counted correctly. 

Sansa had downed half of the Gatorade when she heard the door open and, a few seconds later, Margaery opened the door slowly. She smiled when she saw that Sansa was awake, entering the room completely. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. Sansa groaned in response. “That bad, huh? If you want to hide out here today, I’ll just be working on some school stuff.” Sansa didn’t want to take her up on that, she really needed to go home and figure out how to not have a breakdown every two weeks, but going home would mean going outside and she’s not sure she could handle the sun. 

Margaery must have seen the dilemma on her face, because she kicked off her shoes and started rummaging through drawers, pulling out a hoodie and leggings. “These leggings are too long for me, so they should fit you. Go shower, there are spare towels and a toothbrush and all in the bathroom. Once you feel like a human being again, you can decide.”

Refreshed and clean, Sansa found Margaery at her kitchen table, staring at a stack of papers until she heard Sansa walk in. “Feel better?” she asked, a kind smile on her face. Sansa sank down into the chair beside her. 

“Yeah. Thank you so much, I don’t think I was going to make it home last night,” she told her. Margaery chuckled. 

“Sans, you barely made it here.” Sansa snorted, not even bothering to blush at the noise. 

“I remember. Sort of. And I am sorry for just showing up here. Again, now that I think about it. I seem to show up here a lot.” Margaery took her hand, running her thumb across Sansa’s knuckles. 

“I don’t mind.” Sansa started to pull her hand away, but then Margaery smiled at her and her eyes crinkled. Sansa couldn’t help herself, she leaned over the corner of the table and pressed her lips to Margaery’s, pulling away quickly and starting to get up. 

“I’m sorry, I- I’ll go. We’re just becoming friends and I don’t want to mess with that.” Margaery rolled her eyes, refusing to let go of Sansa’s hand and reaching up to pull on her arm with her other hand. Before Sansa could resist, she was being pulled into Margaery’s lap and Margaery was kissing her. Like, really kissing her. Sansa let herself sink into the kiss, barely flinching when she felt Margaery’s tongue against her lips. That went on for several minutes, until Sansa’s neck started to ache from her position sprawled in Margaery’s lap. She pulled back, unable to help a smile at the slight whine that escaped Margaery’s throat. 

“Can we move this to the couch, or something? I don’t mean to assume, I mean, it is your house, but-” Margaery cut off Sansa’s rambling with another kiss. 

“Come on, then.” Sansa followed Margaery to the living room, where they spent several hours absolutely destroying any chance of friendship, with breaks for snacks and tea, of course. 

+1  
The next morning dawned with Sansa again in Margaery bed, but this time with an arm slung over the brunette’s hip and Margaery’s hand in her hair. Sansa could feel the tangles in her hair and she knew her breath must be awful, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Margaery was still asleep, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed, and Sansa decided that she hadn’t been in love with Margaery, after all. She had been in love with who she thought Margaery was, the girl who was created by rumors and a childhood full of stories; however, she was on the edge of actually falling in love with Margaery, the girl who hid her face in her hands when Jessica Jones got particularly gory and giggled when Sansa’s hair fell in front of her eyes. 

Sansa’s musings were interrupted by incessant buzzing coming from her phone. She carefully extricated herself from the sleeping girl and unlocked it, pulling on clothes as she did so. She had three texts from Elinor Tyrell, Margaery’s cousin and somehow one of Sansa’s closest friends. Although that said more about Sansa’s lack of friends than her actual relationship with the girl who drank more than could possibly be good for her liver and liked to live in a world of mathematics that Sansa could never understand. She did admire the choice of a degree that lead to one of the few fields that the Tyrells did not have a hand in and Elinor had lived across the hall from her their freshman year. 

“Good morning! I’m trying to get a brunch group together to try Arianne Martell’s new place, you in?” was followed quickly by “If yes, can you meet me at Margaery’s at 10?” then, “Make that 10:30, everyone seems to still be asleep and I’d rather not use my key to Margaery’s.” 

Sansa chuckled at that, glancing over at the still somehow sound asleep Margaery, before she looked at the time. 10:20. Oh well, Elinor had never been on time as long as she’d known her, she’d just text and ask to push brunch to 11:00, so she could go home and change before circling back. Just as she made this decision, opening the bedroom door to find a cup of coffee, Sansa made eye contact with the Tyrell she was in the middle of texting, sitting at Margaery’s kitchen table. Elinor blinked at her. “Wow. I guess you’re not here for brunch?” 

Sansa blushed, suddenly aware of the fact that putting on clothes had just included underwear and the oversized hoodie Margaery had lent her the day before. She tugged the hem of the hoodie down. “Not quite. I was just about to text you.” Elinor raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

“I take it you weren’t about to text me about all of this,” she said, with a pointed look at Sansa’s bare legs. Sansa shook her head, but she smiled. It was a great story, just not one she needed to share with Margaery’s cousin. 

The light from the open door must have woken Margaery, because she wrapped her arms around Sansa’s middle, leaning up to rest her chin on the taller girl’s shoulder and smirk at her cousin. “El?” Margaery called. Elinor raised both eyebrows. “Get out.” At that, Elinor laughed loudly, already gathering her purse and draining her cup of coffee. 

“I’ll tell everyone to just meet me at Arianne’s,” she called over her shoulder. “Have fun, you two!” As the door closed, Sansa turned to face Margaery, who hadn’t even gone so far as to start getting dressed. Margaery took one look at her face and started laughing. 

“Oh my gods,” she choked out. “Your face.” Sansa rolled her eyes, nudging the laughing girl into the bedroom so she could shut the door.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have fic requests or just want to fangirl with me over Sansa Stark, you can find me at siriuslytyrell.tumblr.com so come say hi!


End file.
